


a rare moment of perfect balance

by timeladyleo



Series: Project Theresa 2020 [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Project Theresa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26139949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeladyleo/pseuds/timeladyleo
Summary: Herc is in the garden. Theresa dreams of the sky.
Relationships: Herc Shipwright & Theresa of Liechtenstein
Series: Project Theresa 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883584
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9
Collections: Project Theresa (Theresa Takeover 2016)





	a rare moment of perfect balance

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'pilot', with title from the musical _Fun Home_.

Herc and Carolyn could not agree. This fact was not a surprise to anyone who knew them. In fact, anyone who knew them would be more surprised to hear of them being in complete agreement over something. 

The garden was not one of those places where agreements happened. 

Herc was humming a tune Theresa wasn’t familiar with. She presumed it was operatic, but opera wasn’t something she had ever been that invested in. Still, Herc had a good singing voice, and he cared quite deeply about it, and that made her smile. Better still, it secretly made Carolyn smile too. 

“I brought you a coffee, Herc.” 

“Ooh, lovely. Thank you.” He sat back on his heels, ginning and gloves caked in mud. He took them off carefully before wiping his face and reaching out for the mug. “I’m just putting the new geraniums in.” 

Herc’s half of the garden was full of flowers and herbs, boxes placed with an irregular charm designed to look full and colourful. Wherever there was space, Herc tried to plant something. This was almost the exact opposite of Carolyn’s approach, which was to have a few neat rows of veg, and some assorted yet deliberate flowerboxes. 

“Do you need anything else?” 

He breathed on his coffee, decided it was too hot, and set it down against a stone, glaring at it as if to say ‘don’t you dare move’. “Actually, if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, would you mind holding this for me?” he put his gloves back on and picked up a plant which he held out to her, dirt crumbling off its roots. She knelt beside him and took it gently. 

“I don’t suppose gardening is a hobby recommended to princesses.”

“Very few things are.”

“Well, they never have to know if you help an old man out, do they?”

“You’re not that old, Herc.”

Herc chuckled, parting the dirt before him instead of commenting. She knelt, privately delighting in the idea that it would give her muddied knees. “Did Martin and Arthur go out today?”

“Oh, yes. Arthur packed them a picnic and they’ve gone to the hill. I hope it isn’t too windy for them.” 

“It will be. It always is up that bloody hill, and you always get smacked with the downwind coming home from it. The cursed dog seems to enjoy it.” 

Theresa laughed, knowing full well that Herc only pretended to dislike Snoop. She had seen him and the dog both asleep on the sofa on many an evening, and Carolyn had proudly show her the whole album of photos she had accumulated of the two of them. 

Domestic bliss didn’t look the way Theresa had imagined it. Royal marriage had always seemed so cold to her child’s eyes, a partnership without feeling. She had, when she was young, in the deepest nights when no-one would be around to eavesdrop on her thoughts, tried to imagine what being an adult in control of their own life looked like, what being in love looked like. She imagined holding hands, she imagined sleepy mornings and pancakes and dinner dates that ended in kisses and shy looks, a perfect unity of agreements and love. 

If only she had known that true love took the form of pranks. 

“Here, I’ll have that back now.” She passed the plant back to him, watching intently as he pressed it into the ground, each action deliberate. 

“Did you always want to be a pilot, Herc?” The question blurted out before she could stop it. Though she was embarrassed, she had long learned to control that emotion, setting her face into an expression of curiosity. 

Herc just shrugged, unaffected by her nosiness. “I suppose so. Wellington was always the ambitious one out of the four of us, he’s a big name in law now. I sort of fell into aviation. There was an expectation of us to make something of our lives, and flying an aeroplane seemed like a good way of getting away to me.”

“Me too.”

Herc paused at that, absently digging another hole with a trowel that looked like it got washed after every use. Theresa looked away. She hoped he wasn’t worrying about her royalty, or worse, pitying her lost opportunities. Her heart ached for things she couldn’t have, but she clung to what she was allowed with both hands, to Martin and MJN, and the freedoms her title afforded her. There were many who weren’t so lucky, and that made her heart ache too. 

In the distance, a little bird started twittering as if its life depended on it. 

“Martin did mention that you wanted to be a pilot,” Herc said, at last, picking up his last flower. Theresa nodded. “Is there no way you could take some lessons? Just to try it?”

“I could, now. I am not watched with quite the same eye as I was when I was Crown Princess. I fear it might be too late for me now, anyway. And my mother would be displeased if word got back to her. If we had a national air force, perhaps it would be different.” 

“Quite,” said Herc, still frowning. “But if you could, would you?”

Theresa shrugged. She had never really allowed herself to dwell on it in an attempt to save herself from misery. “I suppose I would. Why do you ask?” 

Herc turned his head to look at her again. His eyes frowned despite his smiling mouth. With a forced levity, he said, “Oh, no reason. Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it?”

“Herc. How many times must I tell you, I don’t want anything and you don’t need to get me anything.” 

Somehow, Herc seemed to be immune to her stern charade. She had used it a couple of times in his presence, and it had entertained him more than anything else, as if he could see the part of her soul that winced every time she embodied her mother. As if he could see the person she really was, making the royal superiority complex hilariously false. 

He said nothing more. Instead, he turned back to his garden and said, “Here. You plant this one. Be gentle with it.”

He handed her the flower and smiled encouragingly. It seemed so frail in her hands. Any passing breeze could snap the stalk, or carry away the petals, or one wrong move and she’d crush it and spoil Herc’s garden. This was the only sort of responsibility that mattered to her. 

Weeks later, a letter arrived for her at the residence she and Martin had taken to living in. It was a birthday card, and within, a confirmation of a flying lesson next time she and Martin were due to go to Fitton. 

She smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [sircarolyn](https://sircarolyn.tumblr.com/)!


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